


Magic

by TheEmberGirl



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Ghosts, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, a very small OC of sorts, but it all flows I think, it's not particularly sad or anything, there's a lot of expository lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 01:39:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11281059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEmberGirl/pseuds/TheEmberGirl
Summary: Magic was a gift from the universe, and sometimes the universe liked to nudge those it had gifted in the right directionWhen Arthur Kirkland tried to summon a demon, he didn't expect to have to help out a ghost instead.Written for PrUK Week 2017





	Magic

**Author's Note:**

> There are a few things I should have researched for this fic, but I was too busy to, so hopefully this doesn't just make a huge mess of history.
> 
> The rest of the fics I've written for the other PrUK Week prompts are much short and can be found on my tumblr.

Lonely and frustrated at the path his life had taken, Arthur decided he would summon a demon. He had the potential to be a great mage, the raw power and solid theoretical knowledge, but there was nobody in the secretive community of magic who was willing to teach him to hone his skill, the same secretive community he’d had to isolate himself from family and former friends to join. Of course he could just step away, return to his old life pretending he’d just gone on a soul searching journey through the Himalayas or something, but that would mean giving up on the untapped potential he knew he had. So instead of waiting for a more favourable hand of cards to be dealt, Arthur decided he should pull an ace from his sleeve. Summoning a demon took power and skill. Arthur only had one of those things, but he was sure his thorough understanding of the technique would be enough. Selling his soul would be a small price to pay for access to arcane knowledge and skill and the respect, however grudging, he would receive from the community. 

But magic was a gift from the universe, and sometimes the universe liked to nudge the ones who’d received its gifts in the right direction.

Instead of summoning a demon, Arthur’s incantation called to a restless ghost. At first he thought he’d succeeded, as the apparition trapped within his circle of salt posessed red eyes, white hair and near unearthly beauty. It was only the dated style of dress and the bewildered expression that gave up the game.

‘I’m dead, aren’t I?’

The ghost spoke in accented English, and if Arthur had to place it, he’d guess the accent was German. Restless ghosts were ghosts that had unfinished business before they died. Unable to reach the afterlife, they were bound to this plane, losing all sense of identity, doomed to wander all eternity, truly a pitiful existence. Occasionally a ghost would wind up in a summoning circle, particularly if the summoner was inexperienced. When this happened the ghost would be able to remember their life and identity, as well as the reason they were unable to rest, and they would also be bound to their summoner until their purpose had been fulfilled. Arthur had two choices, banish the ghost he’d mistakenly summoned back to an eternity of wandering or help him find closure. He picked the simplest one, with his magic drained by the summoning attempt, there was no way Arthur could perform a banishing, even if he could remember the right incantation.

‘That you are,’ he told the ghost. ‘Why are you here?’

‘How should I know?’ the ghost quipped pleasantly. ‘You’re the one who summoned me.’

None of the manuscripts Arthur had read ever mentioned ghosts talking back to their summoners. He gritted his teeth.

‘That was a mistake and I’m trying to get rid of you. So just tell me why you can’t get to the afterlife.’

The ghost looked mildly affronted.

‘Well that’s just rude,’ he said, but remained calm, expression going distant into memory. He did have quite a pleasant voice, Arthur noted. ‘My brother,’ the ghost sighed finally. ‘I promised my brother before I left for the war that I’d find him again when it ended.’

 _War_. Those clothes, that accent. Together those factors sounded an alarm bell.

‘What year did you die?’ Arthur asked cautiously. With the rate of his luck up to this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d managed to summon an executed war criminal instead of the type of demon he was actually after.

‘Oh relax,’ the ghost said, catching his expression. ‘I was on your side. This is Britain right? Because that was where the boat I was on was heading towards before it got shelled in 1943.’ 

Arthur nodded slightly in confirmation, still finding the ghost’s story odd.

‘Come on,’ the ghost tried to gesture but it fell flat within the confines of the summoning circle. ‘If I was proud of being an officer, would I be in these clothes?’

It was true, ghosts tended to appear in the form they were most fond of in life, and the ghost before him looked to be in civilian clothing, even if it was clothing from decades ago. Still, things were not adding up.

‘But you were an officer…’

‘Yes, but I was an informant, I gave information to the Allied Forces… Look, if I’m just trapped here in this circle, I might as well go on and tell you my story.’

The ghost was named Gilbert Beilschmidt, born and raised in Berlin in the early twentieth century. He had younger brother named Ludwig, born three years after himself. The two brothers had been disillusioned with the regime from its earliest days. Ludwig, though in his early teens, had had strong socialist sympathies and had been dismayed at the blame of the Reichstag fire on communists. Gilbert had been less socialist leaning, but agreed the circumstances of the fire were suspicious. In the next few years they witnessed _Kristallnacht_ and the burning of books and learnt to only voice their dissent privately. Shortly after the outbreak of war, Gilbert, now eighteen, was conscripted to serve in the army. Before Gilbert left, Ludwig had sworn to be as good a person as he could without Gilbert to guide him, and in return Gilbert promised he would find Ludwig as soon as he could. In the army, he had kept his head down, following orders and growing more outraged with the regime with everything he did and saw. He documented everything into his diaries, which became filled with ever more sensitive information as he was promoted. He’d been sent to France as part of an invasive force which then remained there as an occupying one, and fallen in with the resistance. It had taken them a while to trust him (he’d almost lost his life during their first encounter) but he supplied them with everything they needed to know. In fact it had been the resistance who warned him that his superiors were onto him, and they who arranged for him to flee the scene. Gilbert had given some debate as to whether this was a cowardly move, but in the end he came to the conclusion that if he wasn’t caught, he couldn’t be forced to implicate anyone else or be questioned on the loyalties of his brother. He was smuggled across the country and onto a boat that was to take him across the channel, but they’d been spied from the skies and fired upon. Gilbert had been twenty two when he died.

That was only a year younger than Arthur was now. Feeling a wave of sympathy, he surreptitiously moved his foot and broke the circle.

‘Your brother would be in his nineties by now, if he’s even still alive,’ he said slowly, trying to break the information out gently.

Gilbert shook his head insistently.

‘Ludwig was always stubborn. He’s waiting for me, I know it.’

  
‘I’ll do my best to help you find him,’ Arthur promised, and somehow he knew this wasn’t just so he could rid himself of the ghost. ‘But what if it turns out he’s isn’t alive anymore?’

‘Then find his grave, visiting it would be enough for me to have kept my promise.’

‘Alright,’ Arthur agreed. ‘But you’ll have to wait until morning, it’s late enough as it is.’  
Gilbert shrugged agreeably.

‘I’ve waited over half a century already, what’s another day or so?’

As he reached the top of the stairs leading out of his basement, Arthur realised the ghost had neither asked to be freed from the circle nor realised he wasn’t trapped anymore.

‘You can leave the circle you know,’ he called back behind him.

‘Thank you!’

* * *

 

Arthur awoke the next morning thinking about making a strong cup of tea and rereading one of his favourite theses on the applications of magic before he remembered the events of the previous night and the ghost that now resided in his house. He went down to the kitchen and made the cup of tea anyway, his attempt at summoning had been a complete failure but perhaps he could salvage something by writing a dissertation on restless ghosts. Taking the cup of tea and a slice of toast with him, he found Gilbert in the living room, looking curiously at some of the things lying around. 

‘Things have changed a lot since your time,’ Arthur commented as Gilbert floated over towards the television.

Gilbert froze, looking somewhat guilty at being caught snooping.

‘I haven’t touched anything,’ he said. ‘Actually I’m not sure if I even can. But it’s nice to know who I am again though.’

Arthur was glad he hadn’t immediately been asked to start searching for his brother. He didn’t like doing anything important until he’d had at least one cup of tea.

‘What was it like?’ he asked. According to the literature, most restless ghosts were not this friendly, and little was known about how they existed prior to being summoned.

‘Did you mean what it was like between when I died and when I ended up here?’ Gilbert frowned, thinking. ‘Well it was like being nowhere and everywhere at the same time, it felt like forever but also like no time had passed. I was aware there was something I needed to do, but I could never grasp at what it was. Oh and I did try to leave this house, but I couldn’t get far without starting to feel like that again.’

That sounded terrible, but it did explain why the ghosts were bound to their summoners, and Arthur made a note to write it down all the same. 

‘Why don’t you try touching something, maybe try to pick up a book,’ Arthur suggested as he finished his tea. 

Gilbert hovered over to the coffee table, and stretched a hand experimentally towards the book that lay on it. His fingers sank through the cover, then re-emerged as he lifted the book, brow furrowed.  
‘It seems I can pick things up,’ he said with interest. ‘I just have to concentrate hard enough.’ As if on cue, the book slipped through his hand, clattering back onto the table. ‘Whoops, sorry about that.’

Arthur waved him off, the book would be fine, and what he was learning was far more valuable.

‘I wonder if…’ he mused as he walked towards Gilbert. 

‘Yes?’ 

‘Hold still. Wait no, hold out your hand like this.’

He raised his hand in front of him, palm facing out. Intrigued, Gilbert did the same. Slowly, Arthur closed the gap between their hands, wondering if his would just pass through the ghost’s. It didn’t. Their hands made contact and he felt skin that was just slightly colder than a living human’s.

‘Interesting,’ he murmured. ‘But is this because I’m the summoner. Would it work with someone else with the Sight… What about a normal person.’ Realising he was going off tangent, Arthur stopped, pulling his hand away. ‘Ah, I should probably start looking for your brother now.’

He walked over to where he last remembered putting his laptop.

‘I wasn’t concentrating when you did that,’ Gilbert mentioned as he followed Arthur. ‘I thought you’d want to know that.’

That Arthur did, but right now he had another mission. He located his laptop and logged in, before noticing Gilbert watching curiously.

‘This lets me look up anything, anywhere in the world,’ he explained generally, not wanting to go into the specifics of computers and the internet.

‘Oh that’s useful, I’d thought you were going to cast a spell,’

‘You’re taking learning about magic and advancements in technology very well,’ Arthur commented as he opened a web browser.

‘When you become a ghost then find that you’ve been dead for seventy years, I guess it puts a lot of things into perspective,’ Gilbert was as flippant as he was before.

‘That’s a fair point,’ Arthur conceded as he typed “Ludwig Beilschmidt” into the search bar. ‘Now could tell me when and where your brother was born?’

‘1924 in Berlin,’ Gilbert supplied, and Arthur looked up to see he was hovering in a cross legged position.

‘I thought ghosts didn’t get tired,’ he muttered more to himself as he completed the search.

‘Not tired, but I can get bored,’ Gilbert flipped upside down to prove his point.

‘Now you’re just being a distraction,’ Arthur was more amused than annoyed. ‘Oh that was surprisingly easy.’ He noted as results appeared on his screen.

‘What is it?’ Gilbert asked, immediately righting himself and floating down to be eye level with the screen.

‘Hold on, he’s not necessarily the first result that came up,’ 

He didn’t want to get the ghost’s hopes up with the wrong result, but a quick scan through the Wikipedia page told him this was most likely the right person.

‘It has your name listed under siblings… your middle name is Maria?’

‘I don’t know if things have changed, but that was very respectable middle name to have… it even lists our parents’ names! Is it always so easy to get a hold of records now?’

‘Not necessarily,’ Arthur replied as he continued reading the page. ‘Just for influential people, and it just so happens that your brother became a politician at some point in his life.’

As it turned out, Ludwig Beilschmidt had moved away from Berlin with his family in order for him to avoid conscription. (Gilbert was little more than a footnote on the page, a sentence explaining how he’d been unaccounted for after the war, which filled Arthur with a sense of sadness as he read it.) In the early years of the new Federal Republic, Ludwig had joined the ranks of West German politics. He’d never risen to prominence though, not with his socialist leanings under constant scrutiny, especially since the rift between east and west. Eventually he’d stepped away from federal politics, making changes on a local level instead. He’d married a peace activist displaced by the war, and only retired from politics in his late sixties, moving back to his birthplace Berlin after the reunification. Since then he’d been a vocal supporter of many charitable organisations, even volunteering at animal shelters despite his age. He’d become reclusive after the death of his wife, but still made annual appearances at a dog shelter named for him. He still resided in Berlin, having recently celebrated his ninety-third birthday with family.

‘Ah Ludwig, ever the idealistic animal lover,’ Gilbert said wistfully when they finished reading. ‘Does it say where we can find him?’

‘No, but I can find out,’ Arthur replied, already opening another tab.

He spent the next hour or so tapping and clicking on his laptop, searching murkier corners of the internet while Gilbert switched between watching him intently and doing back flips in the air.

‘I’ve got an address,’ he said triumphantly as he finally found a link that wasn’t misleading. He supposed it could have been quicker if he’d gotten Gilbert to help him navigate the sites that were in German, but Arthur was too stubborn to not do things his own way.

‘That’s walking distance from where my family used to live!’ Gilbert laughed almost disbelievingly as he read the address on the screen. ‘Let’s go!’

He hovered a few metres away from Arthur, looking at him expectantly and Arthur had to hold back a laugh at his fully justified enthusiasm.

‘Not so fast,’ he said, almost sorry to have to put a damper on things. ‘You might have gotten you head around the idea of ghosts and magic existing, but it doesn’t mean everyone else will do that same.’

‘Oh,’ Gilbert deflated, sinking until he almost touched the ground. ‘What can we do then?’

‘Now I look up information about you,’

‘But I already told you everything,’

‘That’s true,’ Arthur consoled. ‘But I need to find any intelligent reports that might have come from the information you gave, so I’ll have a reason to be telling your brother about what you did during the war, and an explanation for why you disappeared. You understand?’

‘Can’t tell a normal person a story that’s come from the mouth of a ghost, got it,’ Gilbert confirmed.

‘You know, it’s strange knowing that Ludwig is almost ninety-four now, he was always just my baby brother.’

‘Mmm it does sound strange,’ Arthur was only half paying attention, already searching for ways to access intelligence archives.

* * *

 

It took him altogether three days to find everything he needed, come up with a plausible story, and send correspondence to a certain Herr Beilschmidt of Berlin. In between all of that he’d asked some more questions of Gilbert about his experience as a ghost. For his part, Gilbert hadn’t made a nuisance of himself, and his presence had become almost normal. After the first day or so he’d gotten tired of marvelling at modern technology and settled instead for watching traffic and passersby from the windows. Almost like a cat, Arthur thought with some amusement. Arthur had just replied to an email from Ludwig’s granddaughter (Gilbert’s grand niece, he couldn’t help but to think) confirming arrangements for a meeting and closed his laptop when he noticed Gilbert looking at him.

‘What?’ he asked. ‘Be patient, you’ll get to see your brother soon.’

Gilbert shook his head.

‘It’s not that, it’s you,’ he said.

‘What about me?’

‘This whole time I’ve been here, nobody has come to visit you, or even telephoned you. Where are your friends and family?’

It was an innocent question, but Arthur felt a headache begin.

‘I haven’t talked to my family for ages, and I don’t have any friends,’ he replied flatly, not wanting to discuss how he’d isolated himself for nothing any further.

‘That doesn’t make sense,’ Gilbert protested. ‘You’re nice, why don’t you have friends?’

Arthur blinked, _nice_ had never been a word that had been used to describe him even before his pursuit of magic.

‘Whatever gave you that impression?’ he asked, astounded.

‘You’re helping me right now,’

‘Only so I can rid myself of you,’ Arthur rebuked, still trying to get over his astonishment.

‘Couldn’t you have done that by exorcising me or something?’

‘I was too drained from accidentally summoning you to even cast a luck charm, let alone perform an exorcism,’

‘It’s been days since then,’ Gilbert pressed.

‘And I’d already said I’d help you, and I never go back on my word,’ Arthur insisted.

‘Fair enough,’ Gilbert looked dubious, but he didn’t push the topic any further.

* * *

 

Arthur received another email that afternoon, booked an air ticket, replied to the email, and began to pack. He wouldn’t need much, the trip to Berlin would be short, and he was posing as an upcoming history writer planning to publish a book on hidden heroes of the Second World War. Which was true enough, while Arthur planned to use his interactions with Gilbert to his own means and write a groundbreaking paper on restless ghosts, he also had enough information to write a book publishable in the normal human community, and it was only fair that he should do something in return for the ghost if he was going to practically exploit his experiences. After all, though little was known about restless ghosts, there was one point of commonality - the ghosts faded from this plane after their business was complete, and as much as Arthur loathed to admit it, he would miss Gilbert when that happened. So he would write the book and let there always be a reminder. Not that Gilbert needed to know this.

He found Gilbert hovering outside his room when he was done packing.

‘You realise there weren’t any enchantments on the door and you could have just come in if you wanted to ask me something,’ he pointed out, amused.

‘I figured, but it wouldn’t be polite to just barge in,’ Gilbert replied. ‘And I didn’t need to ask you anything, I was just waiting for you.

‘What for? You know we’re not going anywhere for another few days.’

‘I was wondering if maybe in that time, you’d tell me about yourself. I mean, you know much more about me now than I do about you.’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘In all the stories it’s normally the ghost that’s the mystery, not the person being haunted.’

‘You’re not haunting me, I summoned you,’ Arthur countered.

‘You know what I meant,’ protested Gilbert as he followed Arthur into the living room.

Arthur sat himself on the sofa, briefly regretting not making himself a cup of tea before he decided on this.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘What do you want to know?’

Gilbert’s expression brightened, and he lifted slightly higher in the air – a somewhat endearing thing Arthur had noticed that he did unconsciously when he was excited.

‘So how did you learn about magic?’ he asked when he finally settled on a question to start with.

By the time Gilbert’s curiosity was satisfied he knew that Arthur had been born with the Sight, allowing him to see things no normal human should. He also knew about how Arthur could be considered powerful, but due to his lack of a family background in magic, there had been no one willing to teach him the skills. (A knowing expression had crossed Gilbert’s face at this point, but he hadn’t actually brought his own summoning up.) There were a few things Arthur had declined to tell him, such as how his pride prevented him from moving from this stagnated stage of his life, but he suspected Gilbert had figured them out anyway between all the answers he’d received. It didn’t matter though, Gilbert was the only soul who knew, and within a few days he’d be gone from this plane anyway. Arthur ignored the tinge of disappointment that came with that thought, and decided mention to Gilbert that he too should be able to see the supernatural, as all of the dead had the Sight.

* * *

 

They arrived in Berlin without trouble, even if Gilbert had become bored on the plane and begun to have one-sided conversations with the other passengers in an attempt to make Arthur laugh. A taxi ride from the airport brought them to a cosy looking house where a young auburn haired woman greeted Arthur at the gate.

‘Hello, you must be Mr Kirkland,’

Arthur figured this was who he’d corresponded with over the series of emails.

‘Yes, and you would be Mr Beilschmidt’s granddaughter?’

‘That’s right, I’m Felicia. Come on in, my grandfather is expecting you.’ Felicia led him to the front door, then paused as they stepped inside. ‘I’m glad you’ve come to us with this information,’ she said in a lowered voice. ‘My grandfather has never stopped wondering about his brother and…and lately he’s been sleeping a lot more. I’m afraid he doesn’t have much time left.’

She let that sink in before continuing into the house and ushering Arthur into what could be described as a parlour.

An old man sat in an armchair inside. He was bent with age, his slicked back hair as white as Gilbert’s but much thinner. When he rose to shake Arthur’s hand, Arthur could see he was once very tall and broad shouldered. His eyes were the most striking, a warm pale blue, they were clear despite his age and filled his face with a genial light.

‘Mr Kirkland, I’m glad to meet you,’

Arthur noticed that Ludwig’s accent was significantly lighter than his brother, most likely from having had more years of practice.

‘Please take a seat,’ Ludwig gestured at the armchair across from his. ‘My granddaughter will be back with refreshments soon. She’s a good girl, named after my wife Feliciana, and just as beautiful too.’ He sighed and looked over to a photograph of a smiling woman who bore a strong resemblance to Felicia that rested on the table beside him. ‘She’s the one who comes to visit me the most out of all my grandchildren.’

Arthur responded with a few pleasantries before Felicia returned with a tray with a teapot and cups, then left the room again.

‘I hear you are writing a book,’ Ludwig began again. ‘And that you came across some information about my brother while doing so. I’ve always wondered what happened to him.’

‘Some of the research I did for my book was in the archives kept by MI6,’ Arthur recounted the story he’d previously rehearsed in his head. ‘Some information they received during the Second World War was passed on from the French Resistance, and some of that originated from someone codenamed _The Knight_. I dug a little deeper and found a record mentioning _The Knight_ was Lieutenant  G. M. Beilschmidt, an officer of the _Wehrmacht_ stationed in Paris.’

‘ _Gilbert_ ,’ Ludwig whispered. ‘I always believed that he was a good man, but why did he disappear?’

‘That I can only speculate,’ Arthur continued with his story. ‘The last record that mentioned _The Knight_ wrote that he’d been discovered and needed to be evacuated, with plans for him to cross the English Channel by boat and be meet by intelligence officials once he made it. It is my belief that he died during that attempted crossing.’

 Ludwig nodded, tears glinting at the corners of his eyes.

‘I should have know he wasn’t alive when he didn’t come back,’ he confessed, shaking his head and dabbing a hand at his eyes. ‘You see, he promised I’d see him again when the war was over, and he’d only been reported as missing afterwards, so I always just held onto the hope he was alive somewhere in the world. But I should have remembered that Gilbert would have kept any promise he made on his life.’      

‘Your brother did some good things, and…’ Arthur paused, acutely aware of Gilbert’s presence beside them, and how the pain of each of the brothers’ faces mirrored the other’s. ‘I’m sure if he had a way to tell you what had happened to him, he would have done so.’

Ludwig smiled slowly, nodding to himself.

‘Yes, it is good to know. Thank you very much for coming to tell me this.  I’m very grateful that after all these years I finally have an idea of what might have happened to my brother.’

He clasped his hands and closed his eyes, still smiling softly as his breathing slowed and stopped.

Arthur knew what would happen next, but had never thought he’d experience it firsthand, those who’d died with closure and a sense of fulfilment of their lives would experience a moment of clarity before they ascended from the plane. To Arthur’s Sight, Ludwig’s body glowed, then a young man stepped away from it. The man looked to be in his twenties, dressed in a formal looking suit, with light slicked back blond hair and the same eyes as the old man Arthur had just spoken to. His features were almost the same as Gilbert’s, soft where Gilbert’s were sharp.

‘Gilbert!’ Ludwig’s spirit exclaimed as he embraced his brother. ‘It’s been a long time, and I’ve missed you, but I’m afraid it’ll still be a long time until we meet each other again.’ He pulled away from the embrace to clap Gilbert on the shoulder before turning to Arthur.’

‘Thank you,’ he said again before he faded away.

Arthur waited for a moment before he called for Felicia to call the paramedics, knowing full well it was useless as Ludwig’s soul had already left the plane.

‘Why are you still here?’ he asked Gilbert in the safety of another room, wanting to know even if part of him was glad Gilbert wasn’t gone. ‘And what did your brother mean about it being a long time before he sees you again?’

Gilbert looked almost uncomfortable for a few moments.

‘It’s a choice,’ he answered. ‘Once your life is fulfilled, leaving this plane is a choice. I guess that a lot of ghost before me just didn’t want to stick around.’ He smiled tentatively at Arthur. ‘What Ludwig meant was that he’d seen that I didn’t want to leave. And before you ask me why; it’s because of you.’

‘Why?’ Arthur asked, more confused than before.

‘Because I’ve seen how alone you are, and I don’t like it. You helped me, so I’m going to help you. Like it or not, you’re stuck with me now.’ Gilbert said stubbornly. ‘Unless of course, you decide to perform an exorcism.’ He added playfully.

‘I don’t think I will,’

Despite himself, Arthur was happier than he would ever admit.

Somehow the universe was laughing.

   

**Author's Note:**

> Arthur totally wrote that book. He also writes a highly accredited, constantly updating chronicle on living with a ghost for the magic community. Ludwig is probably laughing alongside the universe.
> 
> Some definitions:  
> The burning of books refers to the burning of "undesirable literature" 10th of May 1933, where books that were written by Jews and political rivals were publicly burned by students with Nazi ideologies
> 
>  _Kristallnacht_ \- 9th November 1938, when the windows of shops with Jewish owners were graffitied and smashed by the SS and synagogues burned in a nation wide pogrom that most ordinary Germans regarded with horror
> 
>  _Wehrmacht_ \- the name of the German army during WWII
> 
>  
> 
> ~~I can't believe I actually killed off my beloved, favourite character in this and had him die onscreen, but as the tags say it wasn't supposed to be sad, it was just his time in this AU.~~


End file.
